


RGSF

by deltaSpositive



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltaSpositive/pseuds/deltaSpositive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is a polite 17 year old who is gay and who plans to keep his homosexuality a secret. But there is a new boy in school and Mycroft is totally sexually frustrated......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Myc,” Greg whispered in Mycroft’s ear and nibbled his earlobes, tugging the soft skin under his teeth. His hands were slipped under the shirt Mycroft was wearing, desperately touching and carassing the hot and smooth skin as their bulging crotches rutted together.

“Greg,” Mycroft whispered back, twisting his fingers in the short brown hair and kissing the soft spot on his neck. His hands were moving downwards, greedy for the full and tender arse. Oh god, how could one be as shockingly handsome and sexy as Gregory Lestrade! He could practically spend hours just rutting against him and breathing in his manly smell and touching the naked and beautifully tanned upper torso.

Sometime during their passionate kissing and touching Greg suddenly pulled back, panting slightly as he did so. He gazed longingly into the greyish green eyes for a moment, his hitched breath giving away his lust, before suddenly plunging back in, crushing their lips together in a hot and desperate move.

“Hmmph,” Greg moaned softly, pulling and biting the soft lips and twisting their tongues together in embrace. “You don’t know how much I want you, Myc,” he said hoarsely, his voice filled with lust. “Every day I could think of nothing but you, how I would rip your clothes off and devour your body, how I would kiss you and fuck you senseless. Even thinking of you makes me hard,” he accentuated with a thrust against the bulging crotch. Mycroft moaned at the friction and rutted back against Greg.

Whether it was Greg pushing Mycroft, or Mycroft tugging Greg, the two horny teenagers stumbled across each other clumsily as Mycroft was slammed into the wall, his body squeezed between the cool concrete and Greg's hot and sweaty chest. The two continued to rut against each other, their movements quickening and becoming more erratic as they revelled in the pure joy of engaging in primeval acts. They had already forgotten that they were in an alleyway, with a certain chance that some people would pass by and see them. All they could think of was each other, of how good the whole thing felt.

Mycroft’s eyes flew open as he was getting closer and closer to climax, and he stared into the soft brown eyes as the other boy’s breath also shuddered.

“God, yes,” Greg breathed, hands kneading Mycroft’s arse as he violently rutted against the boy.

“Greg!” Mycroft shouted as he gave one last thrust and climaxed, spilling white hot come into his pants. He grabbed Greg’s arms, holding on tightly as he rode through his climax. The other teenager shuddered violently as he too tumbled over the edge and came into his trousers. The two stood there for a while, panting, as they recovered from their climax.

"Oh God," Mycroft panted as he slowly came back down. He groaned and fell into Greg’s arms, feeling utterly spent and happy and warm.

"Myc," Greg breathed, still holding Mycroft firmly.

“Greg,” he whispered back in Greg’s neck. The boy’s body was so strong yet soft, giving him the protection and love he desired so much. He nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the masculine scent and feeling blissful as Greg's warm hands rubbed his back in small circles.

He looked up, but instead of finding the pair of mischievous brown eyes looking at him, he found his head turned away.

"Greg?"

Greg continued to look away in silence.

"Greg?" he raised a hand to the boy's cheek.

What was wrong?

Why wasn't he replying?

Unless...

Suddenly the whole world around him morphed into blackness and Mycroft opened his eyes. He was no longer in Greg's embrace, but instead he found himself lying on his own bed.

As if zapped by electricity, he sat up abruptly.

He was in his own bedroom. He was not in an alleyway. He hadn't been having sex with Gregory Lestrade. 

It had all been a dream. A stupid fucking dream.

Once he had recovered from the simply ridiculous dream and realized what had happened, Mycroft groaned and flopped down on his pillow.

Only to find out that there was something sticky and wet in his pants.

"Oh fuck," he groaned.

Second dream about Greg in a week. Second time he had come into his pants.

His body had so desired the boy, the handsome young man with mischievous brown eyes and a sexy grin. The way his skin was tanned slightly brown and his spiky hair ruffled messily all over the place...

Fuck no! He was not thinking about him again!

He closed his eyes, giving himself a minute to calm down. His heartrate was going back to normal, and his prick was softening. This was not good, he chastised his brain. No more fucking dreams about Greg. No more fantasizing about his body. It was lucky that he still wasn’t caught in the middle of his sex dream, as he was sure he was moaning quite loudly.

There was a few moments of peace before the alarm suddenly went off. He flipped over and punched on the snooze button on the alarm.

“Mycroft!" A shrill voice yelled from behind the door before it flew open, revealing the short and stubby woman standing at his door.

Mycroft barely had time to pull his blanket over his crotch and cover up the large patch of come. Yeah, leave it to his mother to learn the word “privacy”.

“Good morning mummy,” He said politely.

“You’re getting late,” she tutted and tapped on her wrist watch.

"Yes, mummy," He rolled his eyes secretly. Let her say the obvious. Sensing the annoyance in Mycroft's answer, she smirked and shut the door behind her.

Mycroft let out a relieved sigh. Just that close to being seen with a wet patch on his pants. He cursed his mum silently. Not that his mum was really a bad person, but she just never learned to stop herself before jumping into action. Just like Sherlock.

Sherlock. The mere mention of his name already brought him a headache. He thought of the reaction when Sherlock deduced what had happened to him.

"Mycroft came into his pants again!"

No, that wasn't likely. More probably he would use this as a leverage to get Mycroft to bring him to the morgue. Hopefully, Mycroft secretly wished, just the precinct would do. He rubbed his face when he thought of all the troubles he would have to endure.

He padded his way to his own bathroom and looked at the wet patch of drying semen on his pants. It was a very long time since he had come so hard, judging by the size of the patch, and while he definitely did not welcome the consequences, the sensation of _that_ was phenomenal. And he could definitely wank to the memory tonight.

Not to the memory of Greg of course. He would not allow his sentiment for a person to affect his daily life. The feeling of being together with a man, embedded in the hot muscles, was the only thing he needed. It was then when he realized he was already hardening again. Fuck.

The cold shower proved to be utterly useless in numbing his horny body. His prick softened as he shivered in the icy water, but his mind was still buzzing with the naked image of the new classmate. Mycroft couldn't peel his eyes off the boy since the start of the new school term. Well, not only Mycroft too, in his defense, but also nearly the whole population of girls in his class. The charming bad boy image had quickly got him popular throughout the local school he attended.

Mycroft knew he was gay. Completely gay. He realized it soon after he had hit puberty, when he found the rugby lads and some of his more well-built classmates hot and the idea of naked girls a major turn off. Not that much of a leap actually. But he had kept this to himself and no one knew. Well except for Sherlock of course.

He spent some time in the shower, rubbing off all traces of the drying cum. After that he quickly dressed and went down to the dining room.

His whole family had already seated at the rather large dark oak table by the time he arrived. There was one empty chair pulled out next to mummy Holmes.

"Good morning mummy and daddy. I apologize for having you all to wait," he said politely as he sat into the chair. Across the table, Sherlock was scowling at him.

"Ah here you are Mycroft. Well, tuck in, every one!" Daddy Holmes said cheerfully and clasped his hands together. Upon the signal, Sherlock abandoned his scowl and quickly tucked into his sausage.

"Mycroft, what took you so long?" Elizabeth Holmes struck up conversationally as she dissected her sausage carefully.

Mycroft was about to make up an excuse when Sherlock blurted out with his mouth still full of sausage meat, "He was cleaning up his..."

"Room," Mycroft completed the sentence and glared at Sherlock dangerously, who was now grinning gleefully.

_Don't you dare, Sherlock. I would bring you to the morgue if you shut up._ He communicated though his glare.

Sherlock was practically bouncing up and down in his chair.

"Cleaning your room in the morning?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"Yes, I was worried that the maid would not appreciate the messiness of my room. Cleaning it up a bit would be a polite gesture," Mycroft replied. Good Lord his thinking was quick.

"Ah, that was a nice thing to do. Learn from your brother, Sherlock," Elizabeth directed at Sherlock, who was now playing with the boiled broccoli in his plate and making a puree.

"Yes mum," Sherlock pouted and glared at Mycroft again.

_Morgue and precinct._

_Don't push too far, Sherlock._

Suddenly Arthur Holmes pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Oh, I should go running," he quipped happily as he looked up to the antique wooden clock at the other end of the room. "Goodbye kids," he bent down and kissed the two boys on their cheeks (Sherlock scowling again). Both of the teenagers groaned when their father slapped his wife naughtily at her behind before leaving.

"I must get going too," said Mycroft after his father had disappeared and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Have a good day mummy," he kissed her and hurriedly left.

God, that was gross. He tried to wipe the visual memory away as he picked up his bag and hopped into his black BMW.

***

Contrary to popular belief (by popular he meant all the aunts and uncles who would visit the Holmes once every few years), he was not a boarding school boy in Eton. In fact, due to their mother's penchant for recluse and her unwillingness to leave the boys out of her sight more than 8 hours a day, the Holmes boys had settled in a local high school in a quiet small town.

The black BMW rolled to a stop under the giant oak tree a certain distance away from the school grounds. Mycroft parked his car and got out, hiding behind the tree trunk effectively as he took out a cigarette from his pocket.

 He was lighting his cigarette when a motorbike came into view and pulled up next to his BMW. The boy on it hopped off and pulled off his helmet.

 "Hey spod," Greg grinned as he walked towards Mycroft. He was wearing a black leather jacket outside his school uniform and his spiky brown hair was ruffled all over the place. Mycroft tried not to stare into the handsome face as the boy approached him. "Didn't know you smoke."

"Hello Gregory," Mycroft greeted politely in return, oblivious to the nickname Greg had gotten for him. He didn't really care about it, honestly, as long as it was just a friendly teasing. In fact, he kind of liked the way Greg said it.

The auburn haired teenager yelped in shock as Greg suddenly reached out and snatched the cigarette away from Mycroft's fingers.

"Low tar?" The older teenager wrinkled his face as he blew out a ring of smoke.

"Yes. Problem?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows at Greg as he lit another cigarette.

"Knew you are a spod," Greg grinned as he sucked in another handful of smoke. 

"Being studious or not is completely irrelevant to one's smoking habits, Gregory," Mycroft pointed out.

"Uh huh," Greg waggled his finger in front of Mycroft, his face suddenly morphed into one of seriousness, "Only spods smoke low tar." He wriggled an eyebrow.

Mycroft laughed involuntarily at the simply childish but somewhat adorable act and was about to reply when a boy in his form, Andy, walked to them. "Hey Greg," he barely acknowledged the existence of the other boy, "Are you going to go to class or not?"

"Coming," Greg flicked his cigarette on the ground as he jogged to the boy's side. The two walked away together, chatting, and Mycroft continued to smoke for a while before he walked to the main building, not noticing that he was humming under his breath.

 


	2. Chapter 2

There was a knock at the door and the whole class suddenly stopped all their movements and fell into silence. The classroom was a mess, with the tables and chairs all overturned and the floor littered with rubbish and some chewed gum. There were a pair of couple at the corner of the room snogging, a fair amount of boys chewing gum and throwing rubbish around, and a large group at the other end of the classroom playing truth or dare. The only student who had quietly remained in his seat amidst the chaos was, of course, Mycroft Holmes.

"Mycroft, go tell the teacher to sod off!" A rather skinny and small boy, Collins, whispered urgently to Mycroft, who was sitting on his chair with a relaxed air.

Mycroft rolled his eyes but knew better than to sit back and watch the whole class go to detention. He certainly did not want to be the target of 20 angry teenagers. 

He certainly didn't expect it when he opened the door and found John Watson smiling weakly at him.

"Hi, Mycroft. The headmaster wants to see you. Sherlock's been caught smuggling some methyl orange out of the chemistry laboratory again," John said, his eyes flickering between the taller boy and the rest of the class.

"Oi!" Andy shouted from the back of the classroom. "Go find and fuck your boyfriend Sherlock, John."

John's face reddened. "I am not gay!" he shouted back. "Fuck you!"

The rest of the class snickered at the irony of his phrase and John's ear reddened upon realizing his mistake. He grumpily turned around and stormed away from the classroom.

Mycroft sighed and followed the angry boy down the corridor.

***

The headmaster's room had almost become too familiar to him. He was actually surprised that it took Sherlock two weeks to get himself into trouble again. He was always here because the school could never contact their parents (Sherlock made sure all the phones at home had the school's number blocked), so he was the best candidate for a guardian.

"Ah, Mycroft. We meet again," the headmaster, a man in his mid-forties with a rather large waist, greeted when Mycroft opened the door.

Mycroft did a quick scan around the room: Sherlock, as usual, was slumped in the guest chair in front of the desk. A small vile containing red orange liquid was placed on the table, clearly the methyl orange John mentioned. The little boy himself was perched on the sofa, still fuming from the previous incident.

"Good morning, headmaster. I take it Sherlock tried to steal chemicals from the laboratory?" Mycroft said politely.

The headmaster nodded. "This was the second time some chemicals went missing from the lab. Ms. Hooper has checked, and she found out that 250 millilitres of methyl orange and 300 millilitres of phenolphthalein was missing. Now," He pointed his index finger at Sherlock, his voice dropping low and dangerous, "You will buy the missing chemicals and give it to Ms. Hooper. This is a final warning, and next time you run into any trouble again, your punishment will be much more severe than a detention class. Get it?"

Sherlock pouted and nodded reluctantly. Mycroft thanked god that he didn't continue to argue on the matter to make things worse.

"I am sorry for taking you out from your lessons again, Mycroft. But please help me tell your parents about this. Okay?" The headmaster directed back to Mycroft, who nodded and left with the two boys.

"Detention," Sherlock huffed grumpily as soon as they were out of earshot, "He couldn't even prove the robberies were linked to me!"

"Like there would be anyone in our school who would steal pH indicators," John patted on Sherlock's head as a sign of affection.

"When does your detention end?" Mycroft asked with a tone of desperation.

"Five thirty. You will pick me up," Sherlock said, "See you then John."

The three departed as they went back to their classrooms.

***

Mycroft parked his BMW and walked around the school field to get to the detention classroom. It was five twenty, and golden yellow sunlight shined lazily on the grass. The rugby boys were training on the field, and Mycroft let his eyes wander towards the hot boys in shorts.

Mycroft really liked rugby guys. And water polo too. They were his type, not too tall, sturdily built, rough and manly. Also there was something to do with their shorts. Call it Mycroft's shorts kink.

They were now doing some sort of tackling. Mycroft saw a guy being tackled down by a rather hot one, and for a moment he imagined that he was the guy on the bottom, pressed on the grass roughly by a hot and sweaty body. He imagined being straddled, unable to struggle from the rough confinements, and feeling hot breathe on his neck as the man on top leaned in...

Fuck, why was he being extra horny today! He mentally berated himself and tried to shake the images of naked rugby guys from his head. Perhaps a good wank tonight would do him good.

The first person he saw as he walked into the detention classroom was not Sherlock, but...

"Gregory?"

The other teenager spun around in his seat and looked at Mycroft with surprise.

"Why... Oh, right. Picking up your little brother?" Greg suddenly realized and made the connection.

"Yes. My little brother is quite a kleptomaniac," he said, stepping a little bit closer to Greg's side. The boy's hair was ruffled as usual, and his tie was loosened slightly. Mycroft's heart skipped a bit when a grin broke out on Greg's face.

"Well, you just missed the best part. He..."

"Gregory, this is a detention class, not a gossiping class!" The teacher, Mr. Robinson, slammed on the table and Mycroft watched in amusement as Gregory flipped the teacher off under the table. 

"Yes, sir!" Greg saluted comically. Mr. Robinson rolled his eyes and ignored the laughter from the classroom.

"See you tomorrow then," Mycroft said and smiled at Greg. It was interesting how he could easily smile when he was next to Greg, the funny and mischievous boy who could warm his heart quickly. Greg smiled back at him and mouthed something like 'spod' at him, which made Mycroft chuckled before turning away. He walked to Mr. Robinson, talked to him about Sherlock, and then led his brother away.

Sherlock eyed him all the way back to his car. Feeling a little creeped out, he suddenly stopped and faced his brother with raised eyebrows.

"You like that Gregory Lestrade," Sherlock said, the word "that" showing a bit of contempt.

Mycroft sighed as he continued walking. "Perhaps a bit. He's good-looking, charming, funny, and a bit mischievous, just the way I like. It is quite difficult not to be attracted to him."

"He's stupid," Sherlock said.

"No, he's not. You can't compare him with us, Sherlock," Mycroft said a little bit defensively as he remembered how Greg quickly figured out what he was doing there.

"You only said it because you like him."

"John is stupid too."

"Wrong." Sherlock shut him up with one word. Not willing to argue, the two walked the rest of the way to the car in silence.

John was already waiting inside the car when they arrived. Sherlock smiled as he slid into the backseat with John.

"Hey, Sherlock. How was the detention class?" John asked, expecting a pout from Sherlock as he grumbled on how boring it was.

But instead, the boy was in high spirits and turned to John excitedly, "Oh, it was amazing! You should see Mr. Robinson's face when I lifted up the lube he was using!"

"What?" Mycroft and John both gaped and turned to look at him.

"The Lestrade boy asked me what I could deduce from Mr. Robinson, and I told him he had a bottle of lubricant that he had used during lunch break. Then he asked me to prove it to him, so I nicked the lube and put it on my table. You should really see his face!" Sherlock babbled excitedly.

"Wait, did he punish you?" John asked, with concern written on his face.

"No," Sherlock rolled his eyes and shot John a glance, like telling him 'obviously'. "Punishing me would require him to admit I stole this from him. Idiot, considering everyone obviously already knew it was his." 

"Brilliant!" John said with admiration.

Sherlock smiled warmly at John and squeezed John's hand as his version of 'Thank you'. John blushed at the contact but let Sherlock continue holding him like that.

Mycroft watched the two silently, noticing the clear sign of affection in their eyes. He suddenly hoped that Greg was sitting beside him and touching his hand, and that he would squeeze the rough hand softly and just stare at the handsome face before leaning in...

"...and we will be visiting the morgue and the precinct on Saturday!" Sherlock announced from the backseat.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

 ***

The sky was already dark by the time the three of them arrived at the Holmes Manor.

"Remember John, we were hanging around the library, not in detention class," Sherlock whispered in John's ear as they walked up the steps to the porch.

"You were in detention, I was bored to death," John glared at him.

Sherlock was about to retort when the door flew open unexpectedly.

"Where have you been, Sherlock?" Was Elizabeth Holmes greeting as the stubby woman stood furiously at the door.

"Library," Sherlock and John answered together while Mycroft walked inside without giving a damn (Mummy knew he went to pick him up anyway).

Elizabeth suddenly noticed the shorter boy at the door and her wrath morphed quickly into tender sweetness.

"Oh hello John. Haven't seen you for a week now. Please come in," she smiled at the shorter boy.

"My father is back from the army and I want to spend more time with him. He's off drinking now," the shorter boy smiled politely in return as he stepped over the threshold.

"Oh, that's great news!" Elizabeth Holmes said warmly before suddenly glaring at Sherlock angrily as he too went inside and shut the door.

John, Sherlock, and Elizabeth walked to the dining room where Arthur Holmes was already seated at one end of the oak table.

"Oh, hello Sherlock. And John, nice to see you again!" Arthur said happily as though he hadn't heard the commotion at the door a minute ago.

"Hello, Arthur," John said pleasantly as he sat down at the table. Dinner together with the Holmes family was a very common activity for John.

"Hi dad," Sherlock said a little grumpily as he sat next to John.

"Oh, Arthur dear, we must invite Mr. Watson over. He's back from the army, and he's off drinking. What do you say about tomorrow?" Elizabeth said as she planted a kiss on her husband's cheeks.

"Oh, how fun it must be to mingle with others," Mycroft said ironically as he descended the stairs, now dressed in a vest and a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had changed into his "casual wear" immediately after he had got home, and had heard Elizabeth's comment as he exited his bedroom and went down to have dinner.

"Mycroft," Elizabeth tutted but did not go on, knowing clearly that her son hated social contact.

 Mycroft gave her his glare as he sat down next to her.

Arthur Holmes, as usual, cheerfully told them to tuck in as soon as all was set. Mycroft was drinking his soup when his mobile buzzed in his pocket.

He took it out, and there was a new message from an unknown number

**Hey spod what r u doing**

Mycroft's heart skipped a beat. Greg was actually texting him. Fuck. He quickly typed out a reply:

_Eating. Did you ask Sherlock for my number in order to ask me about homework? - MH_

**Yeahhhh :) I know u will help me out**

Mycroft smiled indulgently at the little smiley face for a moment before noticing Sherlock's suspicious glare over the table. He ignored him, sipped some soup, and then typed out his reply.

_What makes you think that, Gregory? - MH_

**Cuz I was in detention class and now I dont hv time to do hw? :(**

_Your demise is not my concern - MH_

Mycroft had pressed the 'send' button before realizing that he might have just pushed Greg away. Not wanting the conversation to end badly, he quickly typed out a new text.

 _I might, however, help you out if you tell me why you are in detention class in the first place_ ;-) _\- MH_

Right. A wink should work.

**A wink, srsly?**

_People use this particular expression in texts to convey a cheeky demeanour. - MH_

**So r u being cheeky?**

_Were. Besides I believe I have already made myself very clear in my last message. - MH_

**CHEEKY SPOD!!!!!**

_If you want to ask me about homework you should consider conceding to my request. - MH_

"Mycroft," Elizabeth tapped her fork on Mycroft's bowl of cold soup. "I will banish all electronic gadgets if you are going to ignore your dinner like that."

"My apologies, mummy. I had to reply to a rather important text," Mycroft said as he stuffed his phone in his pocket, deciding to ignore the buzz until he had finished his dinner.

"An important text from Gregory Lestrade?" Sherlock suggested innocently.

"Who is Gregory?" Arthur asked suddenly.

Mycroft had to restrain from acting on his impulse to strangle the smug-looking boy as he answered, "A new classmate in our form."

"Oh, is he very good-looking?" Elizabeth Holmes said, quite interested, "Mrs. Turner said Sally has been quite smitten with him."

Mrs. Turner was the next door neighbour, which meant her family was the only family in a three miles radius. Every once or a while Elizabeth Holmes would talk to her on the phone when she was too bored. Mycroft wondered how anyone could put up with her phone calls at three in the morning.

"Oh, please, Mummy," Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"That's a yes, is it?" Elizabeth Holmes chuckled. "Oh, I would love to see him!"

"Access denied, my dear," Arthur Holmes smirked, "Unless you don't want sex for a week." Mycroft and Sherlock both groaned but John merely giggled.

The rest of the dinner passed quite peacefully and John went home afterwards. Mycroft then quickly found his excuse and shut himself in his bedroom.

Once the door was locked he hurriedly pulled out his phone and checked his texts.

**Alright spod. I got into a fight with Andy because he was being such a prick to John Watson tdy. That's all. Could u help me with my hw now? Pleeeeeeease?**

*photo attachment of homework*

**Spod?**

**R u there?**

Mycroft frowned. Greg got into a fight with Andy because of what he said today? Suddenly Mycroft remembered Greg was also in the classroom today when John walked in. Although he hadn't noticed then, now it seemed weird that the most popular boy in class hadn't actually joined in with the crowd as they laughed at John.

He smiled to himself as he quickly typed out the answers to the homework and added an additional text.

_You are just a softie at heart, aren't you? :) - MH_

The auburn haired teenager lay on his bed, waiting for the reply, but it seemed that Greg had gone to bed. Feeling slightly disappointed, he put away his phone and slept.


End file.
